Love Savages (not freeloaders)

The It Girls of the mo were flying high again at The Shacklewell Arms this week. Savages are going from strength to strength, and a sold-out show arranged by those chaps of 5000, The Quietus and The Stool Pigeon (dream team) saw them on top form. I say 'saw' - couldn't see a bloody thing. That stage is too low, and most men are too tall. Fact.

They did sound amazing, though, no small thanks to them being brilliant, with a helping hand from their clever sound man, Matt (who has very big hands - good for twiddling knobs, suggested one ladyfriend). They have a new single out too - écoutez-vous!:

http://popnoire.com/2012/05/23/savages-debut-single-husbands/

I was alerted to a piece written by Mr 5000 himself, Andy Inglis, about the problems involved in keeping the small, grassroots venues of this music-loving country alive and kicking. Prompted by an article he'd read in The Guardian, you can get yourself into a furious frenzy about it all by reading his thoughts here:

http://fivethousand.co.uk/2012/05/beat-surrender-the-grass-roots-live-music-industry-is-self-harming/#more-1805

I'm good friends with Savages. Yet I'm proud to say that I bought my ticket for Tuesday's gig. How will bands / low capacity venues / small promoters ever make any money if we all end up sponging? I've accepted guest list places in the past - but as suggested in the article, it's generally been to repay some kindness or favour I've previously offered a musician / band / promoter. My good friend Mr Monk of The Local told me only recently that I'm his most-tickets-paid-for customer of all-time. My bosom swelled with pride. And the last time I accepted a guest list place off Mr Inglis, I repaid him with my homemade banana bread. And that's cake gold-dust, my friend.

Luminaire: Wake Week & Lights Out

Little point in me going on too much about the closure of the Luminaire. Everyone’s gutted, that’s a given.

A week of sold-out shows gave the venue a proper send off. I had a busy week, so sadly, I only made it to a couple of them. Fence Collective did a great showcase to kick the week off. Blondie and I had a lovely evening. Particularly enjoyed King Creosote and Pictish Trail on stage at the same time. Superb.

Met up with Kieran and Lou W for a Dry The River matinee on the Sunday. It was a fundraiser for the Teenage Cancer Trust, and a ridiculous bargain at two quid, all of which going to the charity (good old Lumi – kindness itself, even in the death throes). This was, however, a bit of a mistake. None of us had much energy, and although they were very good, even an energetic performance by DTR couldn’t raise our spirits. I had a brief conversation with Mr Inglis and it seemed the Sunday blues had reached him too. And then we ate a weird 1970s meal in a little restaurant on Kilburn High Street, which I won’t name, because I’m not AA Gill.

The Luminaire’s funeral night was a different kettle of dead fish. It was a bit of a riot. Although there were some sad and rather poignant moments (a funny but touching eulogy given by Son Of Dave, hearing Andy Inglis speak about the venue he loved), and some bizarre moments (there was a coffin – an actual coffin…with pall bearers), it was a sterling night. Great music (I fell a wee bit in love with John & Jehn), top DJing, some very expressive dancing, and one truly Formula 1-esque moment, as Mr Inglis hopped athletically onto his bar and sprayed the assembled crowd with fizz (oh, they were begging for it), whilst toasting his venue partner-in-crime John Donnelly. It was the most rock ‘n’ roll wake I’ve ever had the honour of attending.

RIP, you lovely old girl.

The Luminaire: Thanks For The Memories

**Reader, Beware! In paying homage to the writer of The Luminaire's newsletter, this post will contain a substantial amount of swearing.

On my way back from a work promo event last week (Dean Rogers had photographed the film noir-esque campaign for a new top-of-the-range lager called Stella Artois Black - I promptly renamed it 'Premium Wifebeater'), tiny bit on the pissed side (strong stuff, that), when I decided to check my emails. Lurking amidst the work and assorted other guff, I saw a mail from The Luminaire, and the header read "Friends, it is with sadness that we have to announce the closure of The Luminaire..."

I thought it was some sort-of joke. A bit of a piss-take. So I mailed Andy at The Luminaire to ask. It's not a joke. It's all too true.

And so, I'd like to personally thank a couple of people. The people he wrote about in the mailer a few weeks ago. The fucking arsehole who nicked the three mics that it'd cost The Luminaire £200 to replace. The stupid selfish twat who kicked in the Green Room door that meant a doorframe having to be rebuilt. Fuckers like you, selfish idiots who make it all the more difficult in what must be trying financial times for small venues and promoters, you deserve a good kicking (normally completely anti-violence me, but recently, petty criminals have worn my patience thin...more of that below).

More importantly, I'd like to thank The Luminaire, Andy Inglis and his lovely staff for some brilliant evenings. Host to this year's birthday hilarity, but also the place I chose to nearly lose my hearing once and for all. Seeing Sweden's very finest (and most gorgeous) heavy-osity, the very wonderful and unfeasibly loud Graveyard and Witchcraft one evening (couldn't bear to put my head on the pillow for the ringing in my ears that night) to be followed by Oz's superb The Drones two days later (deaf as the proverbial post following that). Luckily, my hearing came back, but it was touch-and-go for a bit. Not big or clever, but definitely brilliant. So, RIP to another fine independent London venue, leaving those of us not up for Spice Girls at The O2 more limited choice than ever. Huge fucking sigh.

(Postscript: petty criminals, you can beware too - few weeks back, a couple of little scallys stalked me on mountain bikes and tried to snatch my handbag. Lucky for me, it was one of my old vintage bits, so the handles broke - nearly broke my shoulder too - and the little shits rode off completely empty-handed, but not without the sound of "You little fucking bastards, I hope you die" ringing in their ears. Now, I know I'm a bit of a potty-mouth, but I'm also pretty good-natured, try and see the humour in the direst of situations. Even surprised myself with that one...and although I wasn't sure where the outburst came from, I was really rather pleased with it. If you could knock someone out with profanity, I think I'd be heavyweight champ.)